


"Fuck Batman"

by ChimaeraKitten



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Batfam Week 2018, Day 6, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, my thoughts on the titans trailer in the form of a fic, the title is not what you think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 20:22:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15826257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChimaeraKitten/pseuds/ChimaeraKitten
Summary: Damian hurts himself. Dick picks up the pieces.





	"Fuck Batman"

The mats, the punching bag, and Damian’s hands had all long since gone tacky with sweat. That and the fatigue settling into his bones were the only indicators of time passing down here. It could be midnight or noon, and the cave would still look the same. Dark, cold, and empty.

Damian buried a flurry of punches in the bag and then stepped—stumbled—back as a handful of gasping breaths turned into a fit of wet coughs, and he had to step off the mat to spit phlegm on the stone floor. The sticky substance clung like a film to his tongue and lips, and even rubbing his hands over his mouth only replaced the sickly slickness with salt and the remnants of chalk from acrobatics training. Damian spat again, this time trying to clear his throat. It only partially worked.

With one more swipe at his mouth Damian shook the weariness away and returned to the punching bag. He still needed to work on his high kicks. As he worked, he imagined the man grabbing his ankle. Imagined realizing it, bending his knee, grabbing the man’s shirt. Imagined falling backwards and flipping the man over him. Imagined anything but getting thrown into the wall, slumping over, dazed, while father swooped in and saved him again.

His next kick landed with a particular vengeance and a twinge in his ankle. He stepped away, and almost gasped from the white-hot pain that shot up his leg, narrowing his focus to the one point. Like lava injected into his bones. He slumped to the mat in a heap, exhaled breaths filling with tiny stifled sounds. He cursed himself. Even a merely twisted ankle would bench him for at least a day. More, if it was sprained.

Damian stood slowly, on one leg, and tested his ankle by taking a step. He gasped and only saved himself from falling by grabbing the punching bag and swiftly pulling his other foot under him. He exhaled once, slowly, and then hopped to the medical cabinet. He thought of the inane acronym Brown had taught him for injured joints—RICE. Rest, ice, compression, elevation. Not that he hadn’t known how to treat a twisted ankle before Brown started talking about carbohydrates.

He pressed an instant cold pack to the outside of his ankle, where the pain originated, and wrapped a self-adhesive bandage around it. He leaned back on the cabinet and slid to to the floor. He buried his face in his hands. He would not cry. Not about something so stupid as some ankle pain.

Damian must have dozed off sitting there because he woke up to a hand on his shoulder. His reaction was immediate, instinctual. He was on his feet, ready to defend himself.

His ankle gave out underneath him.

Damian fell with a cry, but the harsh impact with the mats didn’t come. There were hands under him, steadying him.

“Woah, sorry, Damian. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Grayson? I thought you were in Blüdhaven?

Richard eased Damian down. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Damian said, “Why are you here?” It came out harsher than he meant it.

Richard frowned. “I’m here for the weekend, remember? We were going to play video games and eat cheese puffs until we exploded.”

Damian did remember that, now. He’d been looking forward to it before tonight’s disastrous patrol. Speaking of. “I thought you weren't supposed to arrive until tomorrow morning?”

Richard’s frown deepened. “It is morning, kiddo.”

Oh.

“I’m not finished with my training regimen yet, but I will join you shortly.”

“Uh-uh no, you’re going to stay off that ankle while I get cheese puffs and Alfred checks it.”

“It’s _fine_ ,” Damian insisted, “Just a bit stiff.”

“You fell over, earlier.”

“I’m fine.” Damian pushed Richard’s arms away and made to stand, but Richard just held his shoulders down. “Unhand me!”

“No.”

“Grayson!”

“Not until it gets looked at, and more importantly, not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong!” Damian tried to wiggle out of Richard’s grip, but there was little he could do while pinned like this and with one foot useless.

“Damian, please. I haven’t seen you overwork yourself like this in months. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing! I’m fine! I _have_ to be!”

For a moment, Richard's grip eased, and Damian hoped he believed him, but then Richard heaved him into a sitting position and gripped his arms above the elbows. His voice had gone quiet. “What do you mean, _‘have_ to be’?”

Damian looked away. He didn’t want to see pity, or worse, compassion, in Richard’s eyes. “I messed up, ton—last night. I let some idiot throw me. Father had to save me again. He sent me home early.”

“Damian, that’s not—”

“It’s _not_.” Damian cut him off. “It’s nothing. I can’t let it be more than nothing.”

“Damian—”

“I’m going to fix it. It won’t happen again.”

“Not after you’ve hurt yourself!”

“I’m FINE!” Damian yelled, “I won’t let this stop me. You’re the one who’s always talking about personal growth. I can _fix_ this.”

Richard looked stricken. “Don’t twist my words like that. You know what I meant.”

“Grayson—”

“You _know_ that I want you to be safe and healthy first, not doing this to yourself.”

Damian bristled. ‘’If I’m going to be Batman someday—”

" _Fuck Batman_!”

Damian froze, words dying on his lips. He’d never heard Richard talk so flippantly about Father’s mission, about _his_ mission.

Richard took a deep breath. Attempted a shaky smile. “I mean that. Not—not the swearing part, don’t tell anyone I said that, I just needed your attention—but what I do mean—” he leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Damian’s, saying his next words softly, “—is that _Batman_ doesn’t matter. Not as much as _you_ matter.” Richard pulled back. “Okay?” 

“I—I can— _you_ said that Batman values life, and protects it, protects and guards and _is_ our mission. If I can’t do that, then my mother—”

“You aren’t Talia. You aren’t your past, or your future. You’re Damian _now_ , and you’re hurting yourself.”

“But. Father’s legacy—”

Richard shook his head. “The _point_ is that _you_ don’t _have_ to be Batman. If some point in the future, Batman is you, then that’s because it came naturally. You shouldn’t try to change yourself to fit. Just like Robin is you, because you made it yours, not because you chose to fit Robin.” He smiled ruefully. “If that was how it worked, Jason and Tim would act exactly like me, right?”

Picturing that almost brought a smile to Damian’s face. “I suppose that would be a bit counterproductive.”

Richard smiled. “See? Now hold still while I get Alfred.”

 


End file.
